


Protector

by trollmela



Series: Lingering [2]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2017-12-29 22:34:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1010919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trollmela/pseuds/trollmela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It began with the Second Age. Or actually, it did not begin at all. It simply did not end. Against all odds, Maedhros and Maglor survive. For Elrond, that is a beginning of sorts. (Major character death for Gil-galad.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in the Lingering series. It is meant to be slightly different from the rest of the series in that it shows mainly Elrond's point of view. It is meant to have several chapters, but to my great chagrin, I cannot promise a new chapter any time soon. In fact, the first one has been lying around since August, because I wasn't totally satisfied with it. I'm still not, but perhaps posting gets me back into the mood of things.

It began with the Second Age. Or actually, it did not begin at all. It simply did not end.

At the end of the First Age, Maedhros and Maglor disappeared with the last two Silmarils. Only through rumours did the rest of the elves learn that the brothers threw both of the jewels away, Maglor his into the sea, Maedhros his into a chasm. Eonwë had told the truth that they could not keep the jewels, and Elrond grieved for them.

After the war, Elrond went with Gil-galad to Lindon.

“I’ll keep an ear out for them,” Gil-galad told him quietly on their journey.

It was nothing less than Elrond had expected. If Maedhros was alive, he was still the former high king of the Noldor.

Rumours flew here and there. Maedhros and Maglor did not settle, nor did they set foot in any Elvish settlements.

Years, decades, a century passed. Then word came that the sons of Fëanor had moved into a fortress in the far north, on the eastern bank of the River Lune. Gil-galad did not do anything to chase them away, which was message enough.

***

“Did you know that Maedhros has spies now?” Erestor questioned him. The elf was drunk on wine Oropher’s son, Thranduil, had brought. He would never have said something like this otherwise.

“Do tell,” Elrond said, leaning forward.

“He’s recruiting humans, I hear. He has some elves who settled down with him as well, a couple of strays from the kin slaying.”

Unfortunately, they were interrupted then by one of the minstrels starting a song, one which Erestor apparently liked so much that he rose to dance.

Elrond was not without his own resources. After all, Ereinion was grooming him to succeed him, as it was unlikely that Ereinion would ever marry and sire an heir. Elrond did his research, and when Ereinion noticed, he sighed and said:

“I did not want to force you to decide which side you’re on.”

“What do you mean ‘side’?” Elrond inquired. “They’re not doing anything.”

“No, they’re not. Not yet.”

“The Silmarils are gone.”

“And thank Eru for that. But you of all people should understand why I would rather keep an eye on them. I know my father loved Maedhros as a friend. However, they have done too much to Middle-earth to be ignored. I don’t want another war, Elrond, I really don’t.”

Elrond nodded. Neither did he.

 

Unfortunately it came for them anyway. In 1600 they received the alarming news that Sauron was planning to complete his master’s work and subjugate Middle-earth. Celebrimbor had been a fool in trusting “Annatar” who Ereinion had refused, and thus rings of power had been forged which were now at the centre of the new war.

For the first time, Ereinion made contact with Maedhros and Maglor again, sending Elrond to the fortress in the north. The fortress itself was small, and the village surrounding it was no bigger. The buildings and walls surrounding it were sturdy and of dwarven make, with no decorations. Elrond wondered why Maedhros had chosen to fortify their home so.

Elrond recognized some of the elves he saw as camp followers of the brothers before the War of Wrath. Apparently, they had found their way back to their lords afterwards. Himedhel he knew as well as a supporter of the brothers.

It was a shock to see them at first. Maglor came in first, and he seemed nearly unchanged to Elrond. Age had left no marks on him, except that his eyes looked more weary.

Maedhros came in next, and he had lost none of his great presence. But he had lost weight since the last time Elrond had seen him, and his cheekbones looked nearly sharp enough to cut stone. They had always been a prominent feature of his, but now they seemed even harsher. Their embrace was short, but long enough for Elrond to feel the edges of Maedhros’ bones beneath his skin.

He regretted having left them for so long.

“Don’t look like that, Elrond. You did what was best, and we will never hold that against you,” Maedhros reprimanded him. He had always been practical to the extreme.

 

Elrond visited them several times after that, as long as it was still possible. War broke out as they had all predicted, and travelling was no longer safe. By word-of-mouth he heard of his foster fathers’ sorties against orcs with their people.

Then Ereinion and Elendil decided to make another attempt at an alliance the like of which had not been seen since Maedhros had rallied the peoples of Ennor in the First Age for the battle that would forever afterwards be called the Battle of Unnumbered Tears or Nirnaeth Arnoediad. The very battle that had cost Ereinion’s father, Fingon, his life.

***

Elrond was working in the tents of healing on men and elves and even some dwarves on the plane of Dagorlad. In this tent, all of them were sweaty, bloody and injured. In those tents, they were all the same, whether short-lived or long-lived or immortal; any of them could die at any moment.

Erestor, looking harried and frazzled, found him there and said:

“You need to come to the King’s tent. Immediately.”

Elrond quickly finished wrapping the bandage, washed his hands, and followed Erestor across camp.

Inside the king’s tent, he found Ereinion sitting on a chair while Maglor knelt in front of him, reciting an oath of fealty. Maedhros stood off to the side, and Elrond assumed that he had gone first.

Elrond was surprised. His foster fathers had not announced themselves to him as they usually would have.

Elendil was also in attendance, together with his sons. He looked bemused. Without having seen the First Age for himself, he lacked the understanding for the significance of this scene.

The Sindar, thankfully, had apparently not heard yet, for they were not here. Even Celeborn would have found it difficult to restrain himself.

Maglor finished by kissing Ereinion’s hand, and the king accepting his oath. As much as Elrond knew and dreaded the difficulties his foster fathers’ presence would produce, he was glad to have them here.

“Elrond,” Maedhros greeted the half-elf. He embraced his former foster son first, then Maglor did the same.

“It is so good to see you. But can you fight?” Elrond inquired.

“We can,” Maedhros claimed. He looked well, better in fact, than he had the last time Elrond had seen him. 

He had gained in weight and muscle, and he showed no sign of his hand causing him pain. Maglor also stood tall and proud, like the warrior he had been in the First Age.

“Nelyafinwë will mostly help me plan and work on our strategies,” Ereinion said.

Maedhros bowed his head in acknowledgement. It was, nevertheless, naive to assume that the two would not eventually be on the battlefield. They did not have the resources to let such valuable warriors sit the war out.

 

The alliance successfully fought its way into Mordor. They suffered great losses: Amdír and half of his forces were wiped out in Dagorlad, then the Sindar King Oropher and many of his people died because of an ill-advised, untimely attack. Elrond grieved with his son Thranduil.

“I wish that hard-headed elf had listened to me!” Maedhros cried out the night after Oropher had fallen, leaning heavily on his sword in Ereinion’s tent.

Elrond and many others agreed silently. However, they all knew that the elf driven out of Doriath by Maedhros and his brothers in the First Age had never been able to follow the redhead. Thus he had not waited for Ereinion’s signal, and it had earned him death.

They fought on all the way to the foot of Mount Doom. Then Sauron himself came out of his stronghold. Until that day, Gil-galad’s spear Aeglos and Elendil’s sword had wreaked fear and death among the orcs. Now, both of those weapons proved useless against Sauron’s might.

Maedhros caught sight of the Dark Lord, and a flame of dark fury rose in him. He threw himself into the battle, and witnessed Sauron strike the killing blow against Gil-galad with his mace. None within hearing would soon forget his cry of anguish as the son of his beloved cousin was slain in battle much like Fingon and so many others before and after him. The next blow of Sauron’s mace was aimed against Elendil and Maedhros both, and the firstborn of Fëanor fell on the battlefield with many others next to him.

He did not witness Elendil’s death. Nor did he see Isildur’s desperate swing with a broken sword, which by some lucky chance cut off the Dark Lord’s ring—which turned out to be Sauron’s downfall. Maedhros did not see Círdan and Elrond counsel the son of Númenor to throw the ring into the fires of Mount Doom. Their counsel went ignored. The man insisted on keeping the ring as an heirloom, as the ring had suddenly shrunken in his palm and seemed so harmless to him.

Perhaps it was a good thing Maedhros Fëanorion did not see any of this. Or perhaps, Middle-earth would have been grateful if the redhead had been awake to do what Elrond and Círdan did not do: force the man to give up the ring, even kill him if necessary.

As it was, Maedhros was not there, and Isildur never tasted the lava of Mount Doom nor the steel of a Fëanorian sword.

Maedhros had been badly injured by Sauron’s blow, and when Maglor carried him off the battlefield after much searching and showed him to Elrond, the half-elf initially thought that he was dead.

Closer examination showed that he was still breathing, and Elrond and the bard brought him to his and Maglor’s tent. It was a princely tent, both in size and furnishings, although outside of war it would not be considered as such. Each of the brothers had a bedstead covered with furs, several suits of armour and swords were at their disposal, there were two trunks with personal belongings, and a bag of tools and items used to care for and sharpen the weaponry and mend the armour.

In this tent, they laid the eldest son of Fëanor down, and Elrond cared for him and Maglor. He trusted no other healer to take care of the brothers. Maglor had suffered cuts and bruises, some of them quite serious. But he was quickly healed compared to Maedhros.

Several of the redhead’s ribs were broken; his left shoulder was dislocated; his knee was so badly bruised Elrond feared some kind of break or dislocation there as well; but his head was the healer’s most serious concern. Maedhros had worn a helmet made by the naugrim that had protected him from worse injuries. Nevertheless, half of his face was a giant, dark bruise, and he had been knocked deeply unconscious either by the blow or by the fall.

But despite all this, it must be said that the Dark Lord had probably not realized that Maedhros was only unconscious and that if he had not been distracted by Elendil and then Isildur, he would have broken Maedhros’ body and stomped him into the dirt as Gothmog had done to Fingon. There was no doubt that he had feared and hated the sons of Fëanor fiercely.

Elrond and Maglor cared for him for many days. It appeared that the Doomsman would not call Maedhros to his Halls this time either, and the redhead eventually woke. He was forced to spend a long time in bed, but that in itself did not bother Maedhros, as he spent most of that time asleep.

With Ereinion Gil-galad dead, the Noldor in Ennor were once more without a king. The elven leaders came together in what had been Ereinion’s tent. There stood Celeborn and Círdan, Thranduil and Elrond, Maedhros and Maglor, but none of the others of high rank. It would irk Maedhros later that of those present only three were actually Noldor.

Círdan had taken the crown from Ereinion’s body. It was still slightly blackened and tarnished, but the dents had been removed by an elven smith. The shipwright held it aloft and offered it to Elrond, whom Ereinion had named his heir long ago.

But the half-elf shook his head and thus rejected title, crown and throne. Maedhros, although he would not admit it aloud to many, breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed to him that bad luck haunted the Noldorin High Kings in Middle-earth: they had all fallen in battle—except him, and Maglor, if one counted the bard’s regency in Maedhros’ place during Thangorodrim.

Celeborn and Círdan looked to Maedhros then, heavy frowns marring their faces. The offer was not made explicit, nor did they make it willingly. Maedhros said to them:

“The Noldor of Middle-earth need no king. Never again will we be as strong east of the sea as we were in the ages past. Let Ereinion Gil-galad, son of my beloved cousin Fingon, be the last king of ours to die in battle.”

And it seemed that all elves present also breathed a sigh of relief then. Had Maedhros been in the mood, he would have laughed at them all, himself included. Yet it was a sad moment, for Maedhros had predicted the truth: the Noldor wearied of Middle-earth. Many sailed West, and those who did not either lived with Círdan near the havens, or with Elrond in Imladris. The power of the elves waned.

Elrond saw how Maedhros and Maglor were grieved by it. They, after all, did not believe they would ever have the choice of sailing west, and they did not forget that the One Ring was not gone. It took many honeyed and good words from Elrond to prevent Maedhros from going after Isildur and finishing what should have been finished on Mount Doom. They returned to their fortress, their host diminished through the war.

Isildur was killed not much later—Maedhros did not have any hand in it—and the Ring was lost.


	2. Chapter 2

Before the war, Elrond had seen Celebrían and loved her, and she him. She was the daughter of Celeborn and Galadriel, Lord and Lady of Lothlórien, and when Elrond and Celebrían announced their troth, Middle-earth was overjoyed. Chroniclers never mentioned it in the annals of history but Lord Elrond, as the chosen heir of Gil-galad, had been considered quite a desirable catch. And as the elves had not hosted any large wedding feasts in a very long time, Elrond's and Celebrían's wedding was quite the event. Many guests of great importance were invited: Thranduil of Eryn Galen, although he did not attend, as he would not leave his realm; Meneldil, King of Gondor; his son Cemendur; Valandil, King of Arnor; Círdan; and many other lords and ladies of elves, men, and even dwarves.

Elrond wanted to send invitations to Maedhros and Maglor as well, although but he would not do so without holding counsel with his betrothed. When he asked, she replied:

"I know that they are dear to you, my future husband. I have never met them, and I know my father would condemn it and so would others. Yet it is our wedding, a joyous event, and I want to believe that they will not start another kinslaying, at least." If she meant it as a joke, it fell flat. "I will think on it," she said at last. Elrond thanked her, for that was all he could ask of Celebrían.

The lady thought it over carefully and, to Elrond's delight, gave her permission. By the time Celeborn heard about it, all missives had been sent and it was too late for him to do more than frown. Celebrían's mother, Galadriel, did not even do that, which gave Elrond reason to belief that the great lady had either expected it or been told in advance. Yet the fact remained that while the elves had not forgotten what the sons of Fëanor had done in the Last Alliance, they had not forgiven what had happened before that either. And Elrond knew that some elves would take offence at the presence of his foster-fathers at the feast.

Elrond and Celebrían at last celebrated their wedding in the year 109 of the Third Age, and there were many witnesses to their oaths. Envoys from across Middle-earth rode into the valley, and among them were Maedhros and Maglor. Maedhros looked well, if a little tired from the long journey, and Maglor had brought his harp. Their appearance caused some discontent among the elves from the moment they were spied, but the brothers ignored it with all the hauteur and arrogance that came from both their family and their station as royalty. They clasped arms with Elrond, foregoing all others.

Maglor smiled at Elrond. "You cannot fathom how happy I was to see your invitation."

"Thank you for coming," the half-elf replied quietly, their conversation for none but them, even on the steps of the House.

They stood in the courtyard, in the midst of disgruntled elves and wary men and suspicious dwarves. Celebrían again proved her nearly effortless skills of diplomacy and the grace of her mother when she greeted them kindly, yet showed them no undue favour.

"Come inside," Elrond said.

He had put rooms aside for them. The brothers would not live in the main house, but in a smaller residence farther away from it. It would mollify the other elves, and he knew that the brothers would also prefer it. They preferred to have their privacy and peace.

Maglor and Maedhros kept mostly to themselves in their chambers, intent on at least not actively offending anyone at Elrond's wedding. Yet when the day arrived, Maglor brought out his compositions for the couple. He played and sang his songs alone, which rendered them all the more powerful. Celebrían was spellbound by the music, and so were all other attendees, whether they wanted it or not.

Maglor played many hymns and song that day, and some of them were so very reminiscent of Valinor that all were moved by thoughts of the isle to the West. Elrond would never know that Maglor played until his hand cramped so badly, that he would be unable to use it for days afterwards. But he still had his voice, and until he left he sang more songs than he played, though no one except Maedhros realised it.

* * *

In the following years, Imladris grew quickly. Many elves who were not ready to leave for the West settled down in Elrond's realm until, at last, Lindon lay abandoned. The growing population also meant that Elrond's power and influence grew, not the least because of the Ring of Power he wore. If he was not known as such before, his reputation as a learnt healer, a wise statesman and an experienced strategist spread far and wide across Middle-earth. He believed firmly that all peace and justice-loving peoples of Middle-earth had to stand together to ensure that evil would never gain the upper hand.

Elrond had relations with kingdoms of men that would one day prove vital; to the dwarves he was more than cordial, although the Naugrim would all too quickly forget this; King Thranduil, who rarely, if ever, left his realm after the Last Alliance, remained a steadfast ally to Imladris until centuries later when the shadows overtook his realm and he became distant.

Naturally, Elrond had the best relations with Lórien. Celebrían often travelled between her two homes, for while she loved Imladris the Golden Wood did not soon leave any who had once laid their eyes upon it. And often Celeborn or Galadriel would accompany their daughter on the way back and spend some weeks in Imladris. On those occasions, Elrond would always hold council with them, for they were wise and older than he was, and he valued their advice. 

Yet while Elrond shared relationships with nearly all realms in Middle-earth, and all were eager to maintain them, there remained one point rarely spoken about: the sons of Fëanor. Elrond was the only one to keep in contact with them, and though many elves disapproved of this, they turned a blind eye for the sake of friendship. Even Celeborn, who had never forgiven them, did not broach the subject for a long time, though his silent disapproval well understood.

* * *

This situation lasted until shortly after the twins' birth, when Celeborn travelled to Imladris to see his daughter and grandchildren. He carried the babies about happily during the day, much to the relief of the new parents. And in the evenings, when the twins were asleep, he came to Elrond to speak of Middle-earth.

As he walked about Elrond's study, he caught sight of a letter from Maglor that the half-elf had received and read but not yet put away. The bard's handwriting had changed since he had held the Silmaril, and he often dictated his letters to a scribe rather than write them himself but his hand remained distinct. Moreover, few others wrote to Elrond in Quenya, and Maglor still sealed his letters with blue wax and his family's seal.

"What are the sons of Fëanor up to?" Celeborn asked carefully, not touching the letter or reading its contents.

"Not much," Elrond replied. "They wrote to congratulate me and wish the twins well. Although they would like to come, they have no plans to do so any time soon. The north is dangerous at times—bandits and the like. But they do well for themselves there."

Celeborn hummed. "That is good for them." Giving Elrond a searching look, he asked: "Are you sure it is sensible to continue your friendship with them? I'm sure I must not tell you that the rest of the realms are just waiting for them to start something again."

"They raised me."

"They took your mother from you," Celeborn pointed out.

Elrond gave him a hard look. "I know. Yet they did not treat me or my brother harshly. I know what they have done, but it lies in the past, and I will not hold it against them for eternity. Nor will I forget. Have you forgotten that they fought for us in the Alliance when they could have stayed away?"

Celeborn ignored his last comment. "Perhaps you could strengthen your relationship with the Great Greenwood if you did not insist on treating the kinslayers as friends. Thranduil is not pleased that you maintain your ties to them. They command no realm; Thranduil does."

"Thranduil is free to think what he likes. He is king in his realm, as I am lord of this valley. We all make our own choices. Would you really prefer that all ignore them and leave them in the desolate lands of the north? You know that is not what would happen. Even now, while nearly all refuse to acknowledge their presence, everyone is aware of the brothers. They fear them. I do not fool myself into thinking that I could keep them in check, but this way I know what they do. You are not the only one afraid of what could happen should they find reason again to take up arms against the elves. But should it happen, I will know."

"Hopefully you will indeed know, and they can be dealt with once and for all," Celeborn replied. Elrond's point was hard to argue. It was better if someone had at least some idea of what the kinslayers were doing.

Yet Elrond's friendship with his foster-fathers would always be a sore point: one that was often ignored, but always present.

* * *

It was five years until Elrond received a missive that Maedhros and Maglor were coming to visit Imladris. When at last they rode over the bridge, they rode alone, without guards or entourage. The roads were safe, for the most part, but it was possible that the brothers had left anyone accompanying them outside the valley. The entrance to Imladris was still an amazingly well-kept secret. Elrond stroked his thumb absent-mindedly over the Ring on his finger.

The road did not seem to have affected Maedhros and Maglor. Ever since he was young, he had admired them for the self-control that they displayed. Elrond believed that it was the influence of their grandfather and mother more than their father, who was, after all, probably least known for his restraint.

Elrond was waiting in the courtyard to greet the brothers. Behind him stood his guard and some curious elves. Celebrían had opted to wait inside with the children.

The brothers dismounted. Maedhros inclined his head in what was not quite a bow, but a gesture of more respect than he would have given to anyone else. Elrond was not sure whether this was because of their past history together or because he was Ereinion's heir.

"Lord Elrond," Maedhros greeted him, quite formally. They clasped arms in a warrior's grip. It no longer felt quite so awkward, as both Elrond and Maedhros were by now used to doing it with their left arms. "We thank you for welcoming us to Imladris."

He stepped aside for Maglor, who greeted Elrond warmly and just as respectfully.

"Come inside," Elrond said.

Celebrían awaited them there with the twins. The children's eyes were huge with curiosity as they stared up at their tall visitors. They had not heard the worst about them yet, and Elrond wondered how they would act towards the Fëanorians once they knew everything that there was to know about them.

Maglor smiled immediately once he caught sight of them. Maedhros did, too, but there was a pained note to it. Elrond gave him a questioning look.

"By the Valar," Maedhros whispered. "They look so much like the twins of Menegroth."

He seemed shocked, but he quickly suppressed any outward signs of it. Elrond was surprised, too, and he wondered how Maedhros knew. He had no time to reply, as Maglor had already finished greeting Celebrían and was now kneeling on the floor to greet the twins, leaving Maedhros to turn to Elrond's wife. Elrond would not have known what to say in any case.

* * *

"They are good children," Maedhros remarked to him later over dinner in the Hall of Fire.

"Thank you," Elrond replied, smiling proudly.

Maglor agreed. "We are very happy for you," he added.

Amazingly enough, the Hall of Fire was more or less as full as usual. Elrond had expected that some of the more conservative elves would stay away, but he could not tell if anyone of note was away on account of the sons of Fëanor. Perhaps Imladris was finally getting used to having them visit from time to time.

"How have you been? Has peace returned to the north?" Elrond enquired. Today, the cook served trout. Maglor liked fish a lot, so Elrond had requested it.

"I'm not sure whether we can call it 'peace' quite yet," Maedhros replied. "But things are well enough that we could afford to leave for a time." He stabbed a piece of his pre-cut fish.

"You mentioned that you had trouble with bandits. Were they organised?"

"I doubt it, but I could not be sure. The King of Arnor finally sent enough men to get rid of them after they crossed the borders once too often."

Elrond took a sip of wine. "Your relations with Arnor are good, then?"

Maedhros shrugged. "They are well, yes."

"And your health? How is your hand?"

"Depends on the day." Maedhros flexed his hand. Elrond laid down his fork, caught the redhead's wrist and held it so he could see the scarring on his hand. It was an expected ritual, by now, that Elrond would always check his former foster-father's scars.

"It looks no different, indeed. I will have a closer look tomorrow and perhaps try a new salve."

"As you wish," Maedhros replied. He had given up arguing with Elrond about the futility of that a while ago. "King Valandil sends his greetings," Maedhros added, clearly changing the topic. He reached for his cup and blinked when the taste hit his tongue: Elrond had added Miruvor to the wine. 

"Thank you. Did you visit him in Arnor?"

"Briefly."

Elrond was glad Maedhros was clever enough to refrain from showing his disdain of Isildur, Valandil's father––openly, at least. Maedhros had never forgiven the man for failing to destroy Sauron's Ring.

"I hear his reign is good." He leaned back to let a servant take his plate and replace it with fresh fruit.

"It seems so. The people of Arnor prosper, his army is strong, and his wife and children healthy. Relations with Gondor are also good. But we all know it cannot last, so long as that dammed ring still exists."

"Are you certain you are not exaggerating? It is out of the Enemy’s reach after all, and Sauron cannot recover it or regain his physical body.”

Maedhros lifted one eyebrow, casting Elrond a look full of disbelief and pity.

"You know I must ask!" Elrond defended himself. "Perhaps we have seen the last of it."

"We have not. I only saw the Ring briefly, and barely spoke to Celebrimbor about it. But I believe that Sauron poured his spirit into that ring, otherwise it would not have been so powerful as to ensnare men. Morgoth's first servant will not die until that ring is destroyed." The redhead glared deeply into his cup.

Elrond shifted uncomfortably. His foster-father always managed to bring gloom to a previously happy table, but thankfully Maglor had ignored their conversation, and Celebrían and everyone else was unaware.

"It will likely take many years," Maedhros continued, perhaps trying to console Elrond. "We cannot search all of Middle-earth for that cursed ring, and without it, Sauron will find it difficult to regain any useful shape. But eventually he will have one, and we must not sleep. Once the Ring is found, we must destroy it immediately; I doubt we will again be so lucky as to be able to form an alliance like the last one."

"You are right. We must not be caught unaware," Elrond agreed. "I know I can trust you to watch over Middle-earth from the north, and you can trust me to do my part from Imladris."

Maedhros nodded. "I have been building and rebuilding my network of contacts, and if it is at anyone else's disposal, it is you, Elrond. I do not know what the future holds. Who knows, perhaps one day someone will be lucky enough to kill me. There are ways for you to use the network I will leave behind. Maglor doesn't enjoy that kind of work, I know, although he would do it if he must. Yet I would not put him under oath; we both know what oaths have done to my family. He would prefer that you took over in case of such an event."

"I understand. You have my word. Now may we speak of something else?"

Maedhros laughed, drawing the attention of various elves. Perhaps they did not remember Maedhros ever laughing, or did not know that he had ever done so. Maglor, too, threw a questioning look at them, but neither Elrond nor Maedhros chose to enlighten the rest of the table.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the year 1000 of the Third Age, the istari came to Middle-earth, and they made rest in Imladris.

Chapter 3

By the year 1000 of the Third Age, Elrond's family had grown to five, and his children were now adults. It was in that same year that Elrond received a message from Círdan with great urgency and secrecy. Elrond opened it in his study, alone, and was shocked to read that a ship had arrived in the Havens from the West. His first reaction was to reach for paper to respond, but he halted in mid-motion and reread the last paragraph. The Shipwright had written to expect visitors soon. Leaving quill and paper behind, Elrond rose to have rooms prepared. Then he waited, remaining steadfast for days.

When his guests at last arrived, there were only three. Two appeared to be human, but his instincts told him otherwise; they occupied shapes that looked old, with gray and brown hair and wizened faces. The man with gray hair wore also gray robes, and walked with a hunch, using his staff as a walking stick. He smiled at the approaching half-elf politely, yet tiredly. His bearing and looks would have fooled others into thinking him harmless—Elrond was not so misled, not least because he could feel a most familiar aura surrounding the old man. The other man was deeply involved in conversation with a bird that had landed on his fingertips; he did not even acknowledge Elrond. Like his hair, his robes were kept in brown, and he, too, held a staff. The third arrival was an elf, possibly a Noldor judging by his looks. He was tall and lithe, with long, flowing blond locks and keen eyes; eyes of a warrior, Elrond deemed. The blond elf remained at the back of the group. Either he felt that the others deserved Elrond's attentions first, or he was clever enough to know that as the last petitioner, he had a chance of receiving more of Elrond's time. Either way, it was the gray-robed man who spoke first.

"Greetings, Lord Elrond. Lord Círdan told us that you are a most excellent host and keep a wonderful table," he smiled.

Elrond was amused. "Indeed, but whom do I have the pleasure of hosting?"

"Ah, I apologize. It's been a while… I'm Olórin and this is my friend, Aiwendil. There were supposed to be more of us, but the other three opted to go east and not tarry here first."

"That is a shame, for they will not find another friendly host between here and the mountains."

Olórin shrugged. "I'm sure they will make do."

"And who sends you?"

"That is a rather complicated story. I assume Lord Círdan has written you?"

"He has," Elrond replied. "But I confess that I do not understand."

Olórin's gaze sharpened. "Don't you? Then I will tell you directly: the Valar believe that Middle-earth still requires much guidance, as the evil Morgoth and Sauron wrought has not yet been vanquished from Middle-earth. We are here to ensure that it is defeated." He seemed to grow with his words, but now he slumped again and turned back to the last member of their group. "But first, let me introduce a friend: this is Glorfindel, once of Gondolin."

"Glorfindel of Gondolin?" Elrond cried out. "But how can that be? How come you to return?"

"I was chosen," the elf replied, "and I accepted. Lord Elrond, son of Ëarendil, heir of King Turgon, I offer you my service."

And he knelt right there in the courtyard in front of Elrond and offered his sword. What could Elrond do but accept?

***

Elrond was slightly disappointed that his wife and his children were in Lórien at the moment, as he would have liked to introduce the new guests to them. But they would meet in time, although Olórin and Aiwendil did not plan to stay long.

"Círdan felt that it was important for us to speak to you, as you hold great power in Middle-earth," Olórin said.

"Power is much more fragmented now than it used to be in the First Age, or even in the Second," Elrond objected. "I can speak for some elves in Middle-earth, perhaps even many, but there are also Lord Celeborn, Lady Galadriel, Lord Círdan and King Thranduil to consider. And as for the men, they have their own kingdoms, and we have less and less in common. And let us not forget the dwarves, who do not bow to anyone, regardless of how wise he or she may be."

"And I will speak to those other lords and ladies in time, and many others besides. Including the Lords of Fëanor."

Elrond smiled. "Then you would be one of few. Most, and especially the elves, would rather have nothing to do with them."

"I cannot say that I blame them, but in the brothers' opposition against Sauron, at least, there lies no doubt. I had hoped that you might perhaps be able to give me a reference to ease my encounter with them."

"Of course." Another thought would not leave Elrond now. "May I ask whether the Lords of the West have any messages for the sons of Fëanor?"

Olórin gave him a kind smile. "No, they do not. But do not doubt that they know of their doings; all of them."

Elrond nodded. "I see."

"Do they visit fair Imladris, my Lord Elrond?" Glorfindel now asked. He had been rather quiet so far.

"They do, from time to time, but not often. I welcome them," Elrond added pointedly.

Glorfindel bowed a little in understanding, but Elrond felt that it was too early to be relieved. That would have to wait until Maedhros and Glorfindel actually met. He was less worried about Maglor.

"Did you have many dealings with them in the First Age?" Elrond asked.

"None, actually. I knew of them more than anything. I saw them perhaps a handful of times."

"You will very likely have an opportunity to speak to them more now."

"I will do what my Lord requires of me."

The Hall of Fire was too public for some conversations, so Elrond waited until afterward to ask Olórin for a private word in his study. There he said:

"I bear Vilya, the Ring of Air made by Celebrimbor. I can feel that you, too, now have a ring: Narya, I assume."

Olórin nodded. "Indeed. Círdan gave it to me, in secret. He felt that I would need it more in the fight against darkness than he."

"He hinted at it in his letter, and I trust Círdan's judgment. You know who bears the third ring?"

"The Lady Galadriel."

"Then you know all that you must. Tell me more now of your order, the others who came with you, and your nature."

And although Elrond would not realize until a while later, he was one of the few beings in Middle-earth who knew the most about the wizards.

***

Elrond thought often of the istari and their purpose long after Olórin and Aiwendil had left Imladris. Glorfindel he would have made captain, but the elf insisted on starting as a guard. Elrond had to admit that this was a much better idea, for Glorfindel still had to familiarize himself with Imladris and also with Middle-earth as a whole, where he was still somewhat lost at times. Apparently, even customs had changed a lot more than Elrond had assumed. Glorfindel did quite well, however, and Elladan and Elrohir, both adults and warriors by now, were pleased and honored to fight beside such a warrior.

Some months after Olórin and Aiwendil left the valley, Elrond received missives from Maedhros and Maglor. This was not unusual in itself, although Maedhros wrote more seldom than Maglor. The bard usually sent personal messages, while his older brother wrote of politics. The same was true this time.

Maedhros did not write openly, as he was always suspicious of his missives being intercepted. But he confirmed that Olórin had visited him, and that they had spoken honestly about Middle-earth and the rising darkness. It was hard to tell whether Maedhros was happy about the unexpected help from the West, and it appeared that there were some differences of opinion regarding who or what was behind the rising darkness. Elrond did not want to get involved in that. He respected Maedhros, not just because of their personal connection. No, he truly believed that Maedhros was a great strategist and a great mind overall. The entire latter part of his life he had been focused on two things: the Silmarilli and Morgoth and his servants.

The jewels were gone, at last—and Elrond was most thankful for that—and Morgoth was, too. Elrond would have said that Sauron had also been vanquished, but in this Maedhros disagreed. He firmly believed that Sauron could regain his shape, but there was no evidence of that. Nor did the sons of Fëanor know much more about the making of the rings than anyone else did. Without Celebrimbor or Sauron himself willing to answer, they had no way of knowing. Elrond suspected that it was a feeling or instinct Maedhros based his suspicions on, and Elrond was unsure whether they were clouded by his hatred and strong feelings.

***

It took only a few years, and Imladris would have seemed empty without Glorfindel. The golden warrior became part of Elrond's personal circle of friends, too, and they learned each others' likes, dislikes and histories. Yet it was not until Glorfindel had drunk quite a bit of wine that the elf asked one night:

"How was it, being raised by the sons of Fëanor?"

Glorfindel was half-lying on a chaise lounge, a goblet of wine in his hand, while Elrond sat in a comfortable chair on the other side of the fireplace. He looked honestly curious, and Elrond could not blame him. Most were torn on whether to be fascinated by the half-elf's childhood with the kin slayers or to balk at it.

"It was our life," Elrond replied.

And that was the honest truth.

Elrond straightened slightly. This was going to be a longer conversation. But he preferred that people ask instead of make assumptions. Few people asked.

"I have only some memories of my parents, and they are clearer of my mother, as Ëarendil was often away at sea. Elros and I were six at the time of the attack. Yes, we were scared at the beginning. But they did not hurt us, and they were the only ones we had, so we adjusted."

"Did Ereinion Gil-galad or anyone else not look for you?"

"He did, for a while, he told me afterward. But they assumed at last that we had died either in the attack or afterward. Nelyafinwë and Makalaurë moved around a lot. They both cared for us, but it was Makalaurë to whom we looked first."

"Did Nelyafinwë not want you?"

"I think in the beginning, he would have preferred it if Makalaurë had given us away. But he got used to us as well, and he loved us as best as he could. He missed his brothers, all of them, but the Ambarussa in particular, I think. And as the oldest, he had dealt with small children often. But that oath, it changed them."

"I can imagine."

"They had different priorities after Sirion. They could ignore the oath for a while, but when the War of Wrath began, it weighed on them again. Makalaurë would have given up at times, but Nelyafinwë, he could not let it go. They raised us well until the end; they might have lacked the best resources, but Makalaurë insisted on a thorough education very similar to what the nobility had enjoyed in Valinor."

"That must have given you an edge even over the High King."

"It did, which was rather awkward at times. However, Ereinion did not hold grudges easily, and we were good friends."

Glorfindel laughed, and that was the end of their conversation that night.

***

It was not until years later that Maglor came to Rivendell. He arrived with a company of men tasked with his protection. They were tall, dark-haired, bearded, pale-skinned and spoke few words. Elrond trusted that they held Maedhros' confidence, and that had to be good enough for him.

Maglor himself was dressed in a cloak of dark green, but beneath he wore the blue of Finwë. He looked well and content, and Elrond was pleased. His hands were covered with gloves, as had become his habit since holding a Silmaril.

Elrond and Maglor embraced.

"How were your travels?" Elrond asked.

"They went well. The lands are peaceful. And Imladris is the most beautiful of all, as always."

Elrond smiled. Next, Maglor greeted the half-elf's family, Celebrían, the twins, and Arwen. The bard nodded towards Erestor, whom he knew, then his eyes fell upon Glorfindel, who was a new face to him.

"Glorfindel of Gondolin I presume?" Maglor inquired.

Glorfindel bowed his head slightly. "Indeed. And I am familiar with you, Makalaurë, son of Fëanor."

For a moment, they stood across each other somewhat awkwardly; then Glorfindel offered his arm, and Maglor clasped it in a warrior's grip. It should have been Maglor, who was of higher status, to offer that greeting; but Elrond knew that he had stopped long ago, though long after Maedhros had stopped offering his arm. It saved face when people refused, though they had never said whether that was the reason.

"We have new barracks buildings that your men are welcome to use. I do not think that they will lack comfort," the blond elf said.

"Thank you."

Elrond was relieved, although it was Maedhros who carried the higher risk of offense. Elrond thought that it might have something to do with him being the eldest, and he had never had a second profession that was regarded as peaceful as music. He wondered what would have become of Maedhros had he remained in Valinor, since he had once professed to not having enough skill in the forge and thus would have been unsuitable to follow his father in his craft.

Elrond shook those thoughts off. Glorfindel had Maglor's escort follow him, while the half-elf and his family went to the guest house that the brothers occupied while in Imladris.

As Elrond had hoped, there were no major tensions between Glorfindel and Maglor. The returned elf was clearly taking care in how he dealt with Maglor, possibly also because he had never met him in person before and knew nothing of his character.

Here Glorfindel proved himself as a diplomat and an elf cautious of making early judgments, traits that King Turgon had no doubt valued and were perhaps a reason for why Glorfindel had been made the leader of one of Gondolin's noble houses. Elrond found himself glad again to have such an ally by his side. And it appeared that Maglor agreed, for he told Elrond in private:

"Glorfindel will serve you well. At first I wondered why the Valar had chosen him of all to return, and whether he will make any difference in Middle-earth's future. Now I believe that at the very least he will be a great protector of Imladris."

"I'm glad you approve. I hope Nelyafinwë will agree."

"He will," Maglor assured him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline: This chapter is set post 2590 of the Third Age, so I (for once) deviated from book canon, where the Arkenstone was found somewhere between TA 1934 and 2190 during the reign of Thráin I instead of, as seems to be the case in the movie and which I adopted in The Jewel, during the reign of Thráin II.

The dwarven trader was waxing poetics about Erebor and her might, her king and his heirs, and the jewel that had been found in its bosom and named the Arkenstone, the stone of the King. Glorfindel nearly dozed off during the description of that one jewel. He could appreciate jewels like any other elf, but of course the dwarves' love for stone was completely different and at times, he believed, even unhealthy.

"... as if one of the Silmarils had returned to Middle-earth and the hands of the dwarves!"

Glorfindel jerked back to awareness. His eyes bore into the dwarf, who noticed only because he was looking around at his captive (or half-asleep) audience. The dwarf faltered in his speech at Glorfindel's hard glare and quickly looked away.

"Never mention that name if you know what's good for you," Glorfindel reprimanded him.

The dwarf turned back towards him with a confused expression. "What name?"

_"Silmaril."_

Elrond met his eyes across the table. His expression was troubled.

"But everyone says so!" the dwarf defended himself. "For the Arkenstone is that glorious! It's the Heart of the Mountain!"

Glorfindel laughed humorlessly. "Then it is already too late, for Maedhros and Maglor Fëanorion will have heard of it. And they will come to Erebor, and if your kin are lucky, they will ask to see it rather than draw weapons on them immediately."

The dwarf froze. At least he had some brains left, Glorfindel thought.

If there had been any good mood before, it was gone now. Elrond took his leave uncharacteristically early, and Glorfindel and Erestor followed him. The adviser looked as grim as Glorfindel felt.

"Have you heard from them?" Erestor asked Elrond.

"No, not yet. But if they travel to Erebor, they will stop by Rivendell… I hope."

"I will increase the watch on the other paths past Rivendell through the mountains," Glorfindel immediately said.

Elrond nodded.

"If the Arkenstone is truly set above the king's throne, Thráin is showing it off to visitors, else he would have hidden it away in his private treasury," Erestor argued. "There is no reason to think that he will deny anyone a look, and doubtlessly Nelyafinwë and Makalaurë are able to recognize within an instant and even at a distance that the Arkenstone is no Silmaril," the adviser attempted to mollify their fears. This scenario was what they all hoped for.

"And if it is? If the Arkenstone is the Silmaril?"

"What are the chances of that? It's as impossible as a return of Morgorth!"

Glorfindel hushed him. It was a habit and what some would probably call superstition. "Don't mention that name!"

"Maedhros dropped his Silmaril into a chasm of the earth," Elrond spoke up. "Maglor told me himself that this chasm was filled with fire and lava no colder than Mount Doom. The Silmarilli were doubtlessly unique stones. But all that we know of them concerns their appearance: they beheld the light of the two trees, they were beautiful, and, to a point, bewitching and magical. Nothing implies that they were indestructible. Glorfindel, have you ever seen them?"

"No. When Fëanor wore them in Valinor, I was too young and too unimportant to go to those events. I know no more than most in Middle-earth."

"I remember seeing the one my mother held," Elrond said. "Its light eclipsed my memory of my mother. Except for that jewel, I have no other memory from that time. But it doesn't help us." They had reached Elrond's office by now and went inside.

"What of Galadriel? She must certainly have seen them," Glorfindel said.

That Elrond had not thought of this himself he blamed on his distress. Elrond looked grim, first down at the map table, then up at his advisers. "I will contact her. We shall hope for the best; but we prepare for the worst. Erestor, see if you can find anything in the library regarding the workmanship of the Silmaril. Glorfindel, increase the watch on the mountain paths as you said; have a group of warriors ready to march, but be discrete."

Erestor swallowed hard. Nobody wanted to imagine what the worst would look like.

* * *

The brothers did come, and they looked no better than those of Imladris felt. Everyone knew by now what this was about. Nobody said it openly while they were there, but there was no question about it. Maedhros and Maglor were clearly in haste. They did not stay long, but Elrond managed to pull Maglor aside to ask him:

"Do you really think it's the Silmaril?"

Maglor looked even more anguished. "I don't know, Elrond. I really don't know."

"Would it not have melted?"

He shook his head. "How should we know? I didn't see it after Nelyo dropped it in." Of course he had looked. He had to. "But probably not even our father would have known if it would be able to withstand that. There are no jewels like them! There is nothing we can compare them with. Just because gold and diamonds would have melted doesn't mean the Silmaril would." Giving Elrond a saddened look, he added: "I'm sorry, Elrond, there is nothing I can tell you."

"You cannot be so blind not to see what you risk all over again!" Elrond admonished him, harsh and loud in a way he had never thought he would ever speak to his foster-father.

"We have no choice."

"I think you do," Elrond disagreed. "Forsake the oath! You and Nelyafinwë have already received proof that the jewels won't be owned by you!"

"And become oath-breakers?"

"I cannot believe that anyone would consider breaking such an oath to be a worse crime than what you have already committed in keeping it!" Elrond argued.

"The only one who can release us from our oath we cannot ask. I'm sorry. We must go." Maglor sighed. "But as you said, the chances are slim, very slim. Pray for us, if you can bring yourself to do it."

The brothers left Imladris, and Elrond watched them go. His children, Glorfindel and Erestor stood next to him, and almost all of Imladris was watching, too, either from near or afar. None dared utter the first word, but Elrond received many looks after Maedhros and Maglor had disappeared up the path from view.

"Ready the horses and the warriors," Elrond commanded Glorfindel. "I will lead them myself."

"We're coming with you," the twins immediately stated, while Glorfindel left to do as ordered.

Elrond sighed. "Very well."

"My Lord," Erestor said hesitantly, "are you sure? If something happens…"

"Arwen will remain." 

His daughter was already hard-pressed to suppress her tears. Elrond embraced her tightly and kissed her hair.

"It's decided. I will speak to Galadriel now to inform her."

"What of Thranduil?"

"I think it would be best if he didn't get involved. If there is any worse scenario, Thranduil would most certainly feature in it."

"Then you need to tell him that, because doubtlessly he already knows they will come. It is unlikely that they will take the long road south, so they must pass through his realm."

"Send him a message then that I will handle it."

To be truthful, he had no idea how he would 'handle' the situation. Should he prevent the brothers from reaching Erebor? Should he wait outside where he would not see how the visit would go? He ignored those questions for now. His duty to Middle-earth, however, he could not ignore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part is followed by "The Jewel".


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place after the events in "The Jewel".

"A possible disaster has been averted," Saruman said, his voice low and powerful, promising the doom which he had just contradicted.

Elrond sighed. "Quite possibly."

"They remain dangerous. The First Age apparently taught them nothing."

While Elrond could understand the wizard's anger, he merely shrugged helplessly. He had only barely understood the hold the oath had on his foster-fathers, and all of his own attempts to loosen it had been for nothing.

"I'm concerned by the influence they still wield."

"Influence?" Elrond's eyebrows rose high. "They have it, yes, but it is far from being what it may have been in the First Age. Their following is small and made up of many mortals whose lives are short-"

"And yet Maedhros has plenty of spies who work for him."

"That is true," Elrond conceded, "but they benefit us as well. There is one thing we can be sure of: that Maedhros and Maglor are the most bitter enemies of Sauron, as he is the disciple of Morgoth."

"They speak regularly with you then?"

"Indeed, they do. And Maedhros has given me valuable information before." Elrond's jaw tightened. "Do not believe me naive: I, too, watch them in turn. I have said it to Celeborn before and will repeat it to you: we are better off knowing what they do than ignoring them and being caught unawares should they take action against other elves. The events around the Arkenstone prove that."

"I heard that you were quick to react. That, at least, is good." Saruman's dark eyes bore into Elrond's, but the half-elf did not flinch. "I do not know whether to trust them."

"You can trust me," Elrond replied, a hint of steel in his voice. "And it is best that I coordinate any dealings with them."

"So you say. You are protective of the kinslayers."

"Kinslayers they are; but they are not wholly evil. If nothing else, my existence is proof of it."

Saruman left it at that, and Elrond was glad when the wizard left. Elrohir, who had been watching their discussion silently as a spectator, said:

"I remember when we were small and starting asking you questions about Maedhros and Maglor."

Elrond chuckled. "You were blunt. But they were not questions I had not heard before, at the very least behind my back." Looking down, he revealed: "I spent quite a lot of time asking myself those same questions: how could I love them? How could I even speak to them? Have I forgiven them? And I thought up answers so that I would have them ready when I heard someone speak about my relationship with them, whether openly or behind my back." He sighed. "It is what it is. I don't believe that it is up to me to punish them. I leave that to the Valar, who see everything."

"If they sail," Elrohir put it.

The elf lord nodded. "If they sail. And I'm not sure if they will, although I do hope so."

Elves changed slowly. Back in the First Age, he would have said that this applied even more so to his foster-fathers.

Elrond did not like to think back to the Second Age, after he had met his foster-fathers again. Their scars had been vivid, both outside and within. Since then, things had improved, proving his opinion of their unchanging minds wrong. Maedhros in particular seemed to have found a purpose again, and that in turn had done much to improve Maglor's state. That, too, was a reason why Elrond would rather that they meddle in Middle-earth's fate and develop an interest in its survival; after all, the First Age had been filled by the sons of Fëanor striving for their own personal interests and gain.

Their home was perhaps an epitome of that change. Imladris rarely changed, even as centuries passed by. Maglor's and Maedhros' village, however, was marked by the humans who lived in and around it. And thus things never seemed to be as before when Elrond visited. To his surprise, the brothers did not seem to mind that.

Elrond did not wait long after the scare with the Arkenstone to visit them. He expected to find them unsettled and was once more surprised by them when he saw the opposite: Maedhros and Maglor seemed rather calmer than before. He did not ask directly, but Maedhros, who saw so clearly into the hearts of other beings, including Elrond's own, revealed to him:

"The Silmarils are truly gone and out of our hands. When we heard the rumors of the dwarven stone, it was like we were back in the First Age, and a similar fever took us. We were wrong. I feel now with greater certainty than before that neither we nor any other creature will ever see a Silmaril again except in the sky at night among the stars. The Arkenstone, however, has not finished beguiling its admirers. I think we will hear from it again, and not to our benefit."

Much later, Maedhros' predictions would prove true. Elrond wished that his foster father was also as good at predicting good things as he was at foreseeing doom.

But Elrond's own expectations were not disappointed either: Maedhros' activities, whether called scheming or by a more flattering term, were a bulwark to Elrond's efforts in keeping the free peoples of Middle-earth exactly that: free.


	6. Chapter 6

Elrond realized that something was wrong when he saw Maglor on his harp. He had seen his foster-father lost in thought while playing his instrument many times when he was young; but the bard usually managed to play coherent pieces nevertheless no matter where his thoughts had wandered.

The council had only started the day before, and the worst of events had been reported at length. The presence of the One Ring overshadowed the peace of Imladris, although Elrond could not be certain whether this feeling was caused by his own uneasiness rather than by any power of Sauron. He had taken his leave from the main building and the many visitors, who were eager to speak to him and only briefly felt guilty for it. Of course his feet had led him to his foster-fathers' guest house.

It was almost hidden away; few people would know to look for him there, and even fewer would come across it by accident.

Maglor, who might have been practicing songs to play in the Hall of Fire later, had been sitting at his harp for a while; and he had not finished a single lay since Elrond had arrived.

Instead, he was plucking at the strings without any coherent thread of thought, with no intention and no apparent goal. Elrond knew what it sounded like when Maglor was composing and trying out a new idea, and this was not like it either.

"Something is on your mind," Elrond spoke up at last, as Maglor showed no sign of revealing his thoughts.

"Hm?"

Elrond frowned. This was unusual behavior for his foster-father. Elrond rose from his comfortable seat to find the Miruvor in the cabinet and pour some for them both. Now Maglor seemed to be aware enough to accept the drink without question.

"Where are your thoughts, Adar?"

"Far away, ion-nin." He sighed. "Far to the West."

Maglor laid down the harp. It was a beautifully-crafted piece, made in Eriador and still in almost perfect state. It remained in Imladris, ready for Maglor to play whenever he came.

"You said to me once that you have already made plans to sail. What are your thoughts now that the One Ring is here and Middle-earth's fate will soon be decided?" Maglor asked.

Elrond's eyebrows drew together, wrinkling his forehead. His features were plainly of mannish origin and had at times made him the target of foul gossip.

"I plan to sail if I can. To say it plainly: should we fail… I will fight nevertheless. We have separated Sauron from his Ring before, so I will put any and all efforts into such a lucky chance again. And should we win, I will take the ship not long after. Arwen has renewed her pledge to Aragorn. I cannot watch her die as I watched my brother."

The elf-lord's pain was all too clear for Maglor, who had raised him long ago and knew him better than any other soul on Middle-earth. Maglor grasped Elrond's hand to offer comfort and pushed a strand of dark hair back from Elrond's cheek with his undamaged left.

"My heart feels as yours does. I wish to sail," Maglor said.

Elrond blinked in surprise. He had only once breached that topic with Maglor, and never with Maedhros. He knew that Maglor missed Valinor in a more tangible way than those elves who had never seen the far West. Fear, however, or guilt or many other things, had kept him so far from entertaining the thought of returning.

"The years have worn me down after all," Maglor explained with a wistful smile.

"Come with me then!" Elrond burst out.

Maglor raised an eyebrow. "Think of what you're offering: Ulmo may well sink whatever ship I'm on."

"The ban of Námo was lifted at the end of the First Age," Elrond protested.

"True. And yet my welcome will be anything but warm. 'To the everlasting Darkness doom us if our deed faileth,' we swore; the earth drank blood, and we failed nevertheless."

For a moment, Elrond's voice failed him. He realized that his words had become too passionate, and Maglor's reminder of the oath prevented him from replying as heatedly as before. He gathered his wits and said more calmly:

"Sail with me, and allow me to speak for you. You are strong, you can face whatever awaits you."

"You have already given me too much, Elrond. What awaits me in Valinor is for me and Maedhros to deal with. And deal with it we will. I would rather have the smallest chance to see my loved ones who still live in Amman, and hopefully eventually those who passed into Námo's keeping, than remain here in Middle-earth when there is nothing left."

Moved by those words, Elrond replied formally:

"I know it is no easy decision for you, but I am glad you have made it, Makalaurë, son of Fëanor. My offer stands, and I hope you will accept it. But what of Maedhros? Will he came, too?"

"I have not spoken to him about it, yet," Maglor admitted. "I think I know him, though, and I worry that he has not made that decision yet."

"You will tell him, though?"

"In time, yes, if he does not already know it in his heart. Now, however, it is not the right time with Middle-earth's fate undecided. He and I will go back north after the Council. Sauron is ready to attack. I don't think that he has forgotten us, and the north will suffer not least of all."

"Why not stay in Imladris then? We have far more men than you do."

"You know I cannot. We would put you and your people at greater risk. Moreover, you cannot ask us to abandon those who share our home in Middle-earth. To them we will lend whatever wisdom and strength we have, and if it is not enough, well, then we shall enter Valinor on another path which none can block."

Elrond sighed, closing his eyes briefly at the finality of his foster-father's decision.

"So be it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I mentioned in the story _The Seeing Stones_ , this is the last chapter of _Protector_ and the end of the Lingering series. It's been a great pleasure writing it, and although I didn't introduce a new plot, I hope it gave the Protector at least a good ending. Thank you to everyone who read, gave kudos, tagged it as their favorite and/or left comments! I greatly appreciated it.


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